


The Flower Thief

by youalreadydid



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death, Flowers, Fluff, M/M, Ryden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-03-13 17:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18945451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youalreadydid/pseuds/youalreadydid
Summary: Brendon steals flowers on his walk to see his mom, he’s sure whoever grows them won’t mind. Right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have some ideas of where this story takes them so if anybody likes it, I might “continue” by including the little stories. Just let me know!

     There’s this house on Brendon’s walk to see his mom, it’s beautiful and there’s an immaculate garden that can be seen from the sidewalk. It’s full of blooming, colorful flowers that Brendon can’t even name half of. Sometimes, although with a guilty conscience, he’ll take a few from the bushes close to the sidewalk for his mom. He’s sure the owner of the house won’t miss them, it’s only a few from the side of the bushes and the side facing the street, and the bushes are full of blooms, he’s sure they won’t miss a couple. He started with roses of course, because roses are the staple for moms, right? But then he remembers his mom loves Camellia flowers so before his next visit he googles them and prays that he can match a picture to one of those bushes in the houses garden. On his walk, he slowed and examined the bushes close to the street. Nothing. But the bush further into the yard, not pushing out onto the street has flowers that look familiar, and there they are. So Brendon risks a trespassing fine every week to step into this garden, which is full of flowers clear up to this persons porch, to pick out a few flowers for his mom. It becomes a habit, Brendon now rarely choosing from the bushes close to the sidewalk in order to get some nice flowers. He’s _sure_ that they don’t mind.

  
Apparently, they just might.

  
     Brendon walks down the sidewalk and he can see the Colonial style house, with its shutters and the wrap-around porch. It really is a grand house. He can imagine who possibly lives here, maybe some older woman who loves gardening. He can see it, maybe one day he’ll knock on their door and apologize for stealing their flowers just to get a good look inside. He imagines it has a grand staircase, with a landing at the top, big fireplaces and nice, cushiony vintage couches with beautiful paintings decorating the halls. Just once he’d like to see the house from a different point of view. As he walks up, he decides he’ll risk it and steps up and into their yard, reaching for the blooms on the Camellia bushes.

  
“Hey!” He hears a voice, coming from the porch of the house. Shit.

     Brendon whips his head to the side to find a boy standing up from a chair on the porch and marching towards him. This was not who Brendon was expecting. At all. He stares at his hands, reaching for the blooms and slowly pulls them away.

  
     “No, go on.” The boy says, coming to a stop in front of Brendon. He’s tall, taller than Brendon, and lanky. He’s framed by a darker cream colored button up, a vest of similar color and dark brown pants. His shirt looks like it would need a tie, Brendon thinks, but the first three buttons are open and Brendon stares at him in confusion.

  
“I knew it was one person when they started targeting my Camellia bushes. Go on, take them.”

  
     His voice is a deeper montone, so Brendon can’t tell if he’s angry or not. His eyes, that swirl with hazels and browns and a hint of greens, say that he’s not. Brendon reaches back to the blooms and plucks off a few flowers, holding them close to his chest. The boy motions for Brendon to go back on his way so he does, turning on his heel back to the sidewalk but the boy follows him out, catching up and matching Brendon’s stride beside him.

  
“So, is she pretty?” The boys asks him. Once again, Brendon is confused.

  
“What?”

  
“This girl. She must be something special if you’re getting flowers for her every week.” The boy doesn’t sound mad. Brendon gives him a small smile.

  
“Yeah, she is something.” And Brendon doesn’t know how to tell him. He doesn’t think he has the heart to.

  
     Brendon stays quiet as they walk up to the cemetery, leading the boy through rows and rows of headstones and plaques until Brendon finds familiar names and kneels down in front of his moms. He doesn’t look at the boy, he just sets his flowers down in front and sits.

  
“Hi mom.” He sighs, the boy still standing behind him. Brendon waits for him to leave. Instead, he sits next to Brendon, pulls his knees up to his chest. Brendon watches him out of the corner of his eye, watching the boys eyes read over his moms name, look back at Brendon. He looks back towards the plaque.

  
“Hi, Mrs. Urie. My names Ryan. I hope it’s okay that I came with your son, he’s been bringing you flowers from my garden and I just had to see who was so special that he’d keep coming back. I see now, you’re pretty special.”

  
     Brendon wants to cry right there but instead he opts for leaning over and hugging the boy, Ryan, and pushing his tears back down. Ryan wraps his arms around him, and they stay like that until Brendon thinks he has to let him go. This boy is still a stranger to him. A stranger who knows the most intimate part of Brendon’s week, so he guesses he won’t be a stranger for much longer. Ryan sits there quietly after that, letting Brendon talk to his mom. Ryan just listens. When Brendon finally stands up, he expects Ryan to be right behind him as he walks away but when he looks over his shoulder, Ryan is still sitting there, examining the lettering of his moms name. Brendon stands quietly, watching. Ryan sighs.

  
“Thank you, Mrs. Urie. I do really like your son.” He stands, brushing off his pants and walks towards Brendon. Brendon pretends he didn’t hear him, smiling to himself.

  
     When they reach the point in his walk where Ryan has to go home, Ryan invites Brendon to walk him back. Brendon finally sees the front of the immaculate house, the huge windows and small balcony over the columns that frame Ryan’s front door. 

  
“Thank you for being so cool about that. I’ll, um, pay you back. For the flowers.” Brendon rubs the back of his neck, standing awkwardly on Ryans front porch.

  
“You don’t have to do that. Thanks for taking me, even if I was a little forward about it.” Ryan smiles, bashful, and Brendon can’t help but smile back. Ryan steps closer towards the door, his hand on the knob.

  
“You want to come in? I’ll make you some lunch and you can tell me about how long you’ve been stealing my flowers.” Ryan’s tone turns playful towards the end but Brendon gives in to the part of himself that hopes he’s genuine.

  
“Yeah, okay. Will you tell me about all your flowers?” Brendon looks up at him and he’s smiling, pushing open the front door.

  
“Yes, yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”  
Brendon absolutely beams.

  
     And when he steps into the house, at least he got some things right. The grand stairs, wooden, the landing on the second floor, the gorgeous paintings lining the hallways. He can see an easel on Ryans back porch and guesses that Ryan painted all the flowers in his backyard and hung them up, it makes Brendon want to ask him a hundred questions. He can see the ornate curve of what looks like a crushed velvet loveseat in Ryan’s living room and he prays there’s a fireplace somewhere in this house.

  
“Hey, I never actually got your name.” Ryan breaks him out of his trance, and he snaps back to look at Ryan smiling, amused at him.

  
“Brendon.” He steps further into the house, shutting the door behind him.

  
“Brendon Urie. I like it.” Ryan smiles again, leading Brendon further into his home.

Brendon thinks,

this place feels like home.


	2. Daffodil: New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers continue to find their way into the boys lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t even wait a whole day to continue this “series”, so here’s a continuation story to go along with the beginning.

     After his initial meeting with Ryan, a small wooden cone is built into one of Ryan’s fence posts. Every weekly visit with his mom, Brendon finds fresh cut flowers waiting for him in the holder. The first day it appeared, Brendon hesitantly took the flowers and went on his way, but reminded himself to stop by Ryan’s on his way back. When he knocked on the door, he could hear Ryan coming down the stairs before the door swings open. Ryan’s smiling, a pale pink button up tucked into his black jeans, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  
“Hi.” Ryan’s voice snaps Brendon out of staring and he shakes his head.

  
“Hi. Those flowers, who are they for?” Brendon figures he might as well get straight to the point.

  
“For you. Well, for your mom.” Ryan shrugs, one hand on the door, the other in his back pocket.

  
“Oh. Okay. Because I-“

  
“Yeah, I saw you this morning.” Ryan laughs, pulling the door open further. Brendon can see his grand wooden staircase, his brightly lit foyer.

  
“Why don’t you stay for a bit? I’ll make you some lunch, like last time?” Ryan’s just asking, Brendon’s heart is in his throat. He looks Ryan in his eyes for any sense of unease. There’s none.

  
“Alright, yeah.”

     Brendon decides that going to Ryan’s house to have lunch after his weekly visits with his mom is a great idea. Brendon decides this because he likes Ryan’s flowers, he likes Ryan’s house, but most of all he likes Ryan. He likes the way Ryan dresses, he likes the way Ryan talks, he likes the way Ryan sings and swings his hips to the song playing off his records when he’s cooking. Brendon visits every week, bringing produce from the farmers market near his house to somehow help Ryan cook, even if he won’t let Brendon. He goes over for a month when the flowers start appearing in his bag.

     The bag started appearing when he couldn’t carry all the produce on his own, so one of the vendors gave him a plain, cream colored canvas bag. So he’d put his flowers and his produce in the bag and take it to Ryan’s, leaving it leaning against the kitchen island on the floor. When he and Ryan said goodnight and he was halfway home, he noticed soft petals brushing against his arm. A single white Camellia flower was set in his bag, along with something else Brendon could feel settled into the bottom. He stood on his front steps and reached inside the canvas, fingers slipping around the thick edge of the card-stock. He slipped it out, turning the baby blue paper over in his fingers, neat cursive letters swirled into sentences.

  
_Camellia:_ _represents_ _the_ _coming_ _of_ _spring, a symbol of faithfulness and longevity._ _White_ _Camellias_ _symbolize_ _adoration._

     Ever since then, single flowers appear in Brendon’s canvas bag every time he leaves Ryan’s home. Brendon bought a decently expensive moleskin notebook, learned how to press the blooms and delicately tapes every piece of baby blue card-stock beneath the flowers on their own little page. Ryan never mentions it and Brendon hasn’t caught Ryan slipping flowers into his bag just yet so they continue on as they are. Ryan has sent him a multitude of flowers, enough to fill up half of his notebook, many of the flowers symbolizing love and passion. Brendon decides to let Ryan know that his cards aren’t being thrown away, but first, he has to set up a plan.

     Brendon’s feet swing wildly off the barstool pushed against Ryan’s island, Ryan talking about his new paintings since Brendon wanted to hear it. The sun is setting outside, casting an orange glow into the kitchen, reflecting the windows against the island and the floor.

  
“Hey, I think I left my jacket here last time.” Brendon adds casually, casting one more glance around the room to make sure it isn’t anywhere close.

  
“Ah, yeah. I hung it up in the hall closet, I’ll go grab it for you.” Ryan swings his feet off the barstool and sets off towards the hall before Brendon launches into his canvas bag, pulling out a single Ambrosia flower and setting it in the empty vase in the middle of Ryan’s island. Brendon’s card-stock is instead a pale yellow, his dark slanted writing standing out in contrast;

  
_Ambrosia:_ _your_ _love_ _is_ _reciprocated._

     Brendon doesn’t want to wait for Ryan to come back but he settles for leaning against his kitchen sink, looking out the window to the setting sun, casting all the blooms in Ryan’s yard ablaze in dusty roses, golds, oranges. He can hear Ryan’s steps slow as he re-enters the kitchen, spotting the flower set neatly in the vase. He can hear his jacket being set against the marble, the shuffle of card-stock between Ryan’s fingers. He holds his breath, tightens his grip against Ryan’s counter. He doesn’t hear Ryan cross the kitchen. But he feels Ryan’s fingers steady against his waist, spinning him around gently to face him. Ryan’s skin is golden in the fading light, his eyes sparkling with auburns and golds and greens, and he smiles. Brendon’s hands find their way to the back of his neck, they stay there. They both stand still, letting the day slipping away paint them in golden sunsets.

  
“Can I kiss you?” Ryan whispers, ghosts of his breath barely noticeable against Brendon’s lips.

Brendon nods.

     He lets his eyes slip closed as Ryan’s lips press gently against his and Brendon wishes he could see it. He wishes he could see it the way Ryan paints scenes and flowers, how the colors melt together, how their lips find one another seamlessly. Brendon wishes he could see it, but Ryan’s firm hold against his waist and his lips soft against his is more than enough.

  
It’s so much more than enough.


	3. Sunflower: Adoration, Loyalty

     When Brendon walks into the kitchen, Ryan is sat on the barstool in front of the island, running his fingers over the handles of Brendon’s canvas bag. Brendon crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorway.

“What are you doing?” He asks, Ryan jumping and almost falling off the stool at the sudden break of silence. He spins around to face a smirking Brendon.

”A “Hi, Ryan” would’ve been nice.” Ryan breathes out, holding his hand against his chest.

”Sorry.” Brendon giggles, leaning forward.

“Don’t you want a little color on this bag?” Ryan’s eyes flicker back to the bag set on the countertop as Brendon pushes himself off the doorway.

“I suppose.” He shrugs, making his way towards Ryan.

“Let me paint it.” Ryan suggests, leaning his head back to look up at Brendon. Brendon’s hands settle on Ryans knees, gently pushing them apart to make room for his body.

“Whatever you want, babe.” Brendon’s eyes go wide, his face flushing and he stops moving towards Ryan, who’s just smirking.

“Babe?” Ryan asks, pulling on Brendon’s hands to move him closer.

“Shut up.” Brendon flushes scarlet, putting his hands on either side of Ryan’s face. Ryan smiles up at him.

  
“I like it.” Ryan whispers, his fingers settling on Brendon’s hips. Brendon hums, leaning down to press a chaste kiss against Ryan’s lips.

 

     A week later, when Brendon let’s himself in after his walk, he finds the house empty. There’s music coming from the kitchen, Brendon following the notes to the jukebox sat in the corner. Through the window, he can see the back of Ryan’s head, his hair curly and unruly, his back bare, his shoulder blades jutting out. Brendon makes his way to the back door, gently pushing it open into the sunshine streaming into the back porch. Ryan’s wearing blue jeans, something Brendon has _never_ seen before, the jeans covered in paint. Brendon’s bag is clipped to a canvas by the handles, with Ryan sat in front on one of the bar stools. Brendon can still hear the music coming from inside, Ryan with a look of pure concentration on his face.

“Hi.” Brendon nearly whispers, slowly closing the door behind him. This time, Ryan doesn’t jump. He only blinks quickly, setting the paintbrush on the ledge of the easel.

“Hey, babe.” Ryan grins, a pink blush appearing on Brendon’s face. Ryan turns towards him, paint in faint spots against his jawline and cheekbones where, Brendon remembers, he sets his fingertips when he’s thinking.

“You have paint in your hair.” Brendon steps forward, rolling a curl around his fingers, the paint smearing against the side of his fingers. He shows Ryan, spreading his fingers at his eye level.

“Huh. I guess I do.” Ryan smiles. Warmth spreads in Brendon’s chest and he smiles back, leaning down to kiss Ryan. Ryan’s fingers press lightly against Brendon’s jaw and he can feel the wet spots of paint settle against his skin. He giggles, pulling away from Ryan who looks at him quizzically. Brendon turns his head so Ryan can see the paint spots littered across his skin.

“Oh shit.” Ryan laughs, reaching up to swipe the paint away, a bright yellow appearing as he pulls his fingers back.

  
“Let me see the bag.” Brendon scoots closer to Ryan but Ryan moves the easel to face the other way, shaking his head.

  
“It’s not done yet.” He pouts, his fingers still against the sides of the easel.

  
“That’s okay.”  
“No. I want you to see when it’s done.”

Brendon sighs loudly, causing Ryan to crack a smile.

“Fine. But I want attention while I’m here so you have to come back inside with me.” He grabs at Ryan’s hands, pulling him up from the stool.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Ryan scoots the easel away one last time as he gently kicks the stool away from him. Brendon notices when he stands that the jeans hang low on his hips and he can see the waistband of his underwear, the jut of his hipbones. Ryan’s surprisingly pretty tan, maybe because he’s outside working on his flowers.

“Hey, quit staring.” Ryan’s voice snaps him out of it, Brendon quickly shaking his head. Ryan laughs, pulling Brendon forward into a kiss.

“I wasn’t staring.” Brendon mumbles against his lips and Ryan playfully bites his bottom lip. Brendon gasps as Ryan breaks the kiss, pushing Brendon back into the house.

“Sure you weren’t.”

 

     It takes Ryan another week to finish painting Brendon’s bag. Brendon comes in one day to find his bag set out against the kitchen island, beautiful flowers painted across the front. There’s pale pink Roses, yellow Camellia’s, light blue Tulips, blended together in an airy painting style. The flowers look beautifully realistic, set against a pale blue background. Brendon turns it over to find a sunset painted over short trees and a landscape full of flowers that he recognizes to be Ryan’s backyard. He finds delicately painted **RR** initials painted into the right corner, his fingertips brushing against the black ink.

“What do you think? Good enough?” Ryan appears from behind him, setting a mug down on the edge of the island. Brendon stares at him in awe.

“Good enough? Ryan, this is gorgeous.” Ryan shrugs. Brendon shakes his head at him.

“The vendors at the farmers market have been asking where my bag has gone too.” Brendon chuckles, gently lifting the bag up to look at it a different way.

“And what’d you tell them?” Ryan asks, wrapping his fingers around the handle of his mug and lifting it to his lips.

“Told them my boyfriend was painting it.” Brendon replies nonchalantly, causing Ryan to choke on his tea. Brendon’s eyes widen, his head snapping over to look at Ryan, who’s staring back with equally wide eyes.

“I mean-“

  
“I’d like to be your boyfriend. If that’s what you want.” Ryan says quickly, clearing his throat when he’s finished speaking.

“Yeah. That’s what I want.” Brendon nods, setting his bag down. Ryan nods, walking over and setting his hand on Brendon’s waist, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You want tea?” Ryan asks, walking away from where Brendon is standing.

“Mm, sure.” Brendon smiles.  
He leans against the island, smiling down at his hands. Boyfriend sounds good.


End file.
